


Blood will have blood

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peril, Pre-Slash, Purgatory, Team Free Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9242645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: When a Purgatory battle leaves Dean poisoned, Benny and Castiel must work together to save him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Shakespeare, because I’m pretentious.

**Blood will have blood**

 

Fear is like an old friend to Benny at this point. Or, no. A cruel lover you just can't quit. After so long without a break he thinks he must know every form possible by now, come at it from every angle. There's no fear he's not a veteran of.

There was the cold terror of encroaching darkness the night he was turned. The nagging suspicion, verging on paranoia, through his time with the nest that the Old Man would tire of him, that he wasn't good enough, that he'd be replaced. Then the worst of all, the hot, burning, soul-destroying agony of watching his deity reach for Andrea's neck and knowing what was to come. Not that Benny had much of a soul left to destroy by then, but he'd felt the fear enter every part of the twisted wreck of it nonetheless and known that from that moment on there would be no relief, no escape. To live would always be to fear.

In the split-second before Sorento brought the blade down the thought of oblivion had been a blessing.

Only there was no oblivion. There was only this.

This shadowy realm of fight and blood and pain.

And the fear.

You think you'll get use to it. But you don't. No matter how many battles you wage, how many you win, you never stop being afraid in some way or another.

So yes. Benny knows fear.

Or he thought he did. Until the look on the angel's face when Dean goes down and doesn't get up again. Because the flash of whatever it is that passes over the usually stoic creature's face is utterly beyond Benny's understanding.

There's a rawness to it that resonates, bringing back a flash of memory. Quentin tearing Andrea from his arms. Her brief whimper at the bruising grip of his fingers then the way she'd bitten her lip and stared them all down in silent defiance, refusing them the satisfaction of another show of weakness. Always so feisty. So proud.

But there's more than panic in those wide blue eyes. And the way this Castiel dispatches the final mutt with a glowing white palm pressed to the creature's muzzle is impatient, but not frantic. The way he moves to Dean's side in quick, even strides is efficient, but not desperate. Nothing like the wild, animal struggle Benny had made trying to get Andrea free. No sense of _fight_. The angel moves with the air of the condemned to the gallows.

And by the time Castiel kneels, ripping the carcass of the second animal from Dean's torso so the bloody wound in its side spills wet crimson, fast soaked up by forest soil, like the place itself is hungry, the angel's expression is a familiar blank. Benny might have thought this showed a lack of care, if it wasn't for the feather light, tender touch of Castiel's fingers to Dean's temple, turning the fallen man's head but a fraction to expose the torn patch of skin where the mutt's teeth found their mark. The angel's other hand hovers over the wound, eyes flicking from it to Dean's closed eyes and back again.

As he circles round the corpse of his own kill towards them Benny finds himself holding his breath. Fearing the worst. The oldest of fears. But while he knows enough to sense the angel _is_ afraid, Benny knows they have no fear in common. The angel's fear of Dean's loss, cold and hidden, runs deeper than any kind Benny has ever known. Deeper, perhaps, than man or monster is capable of. And for the first time in a long time Benny feels a flicker of long sought for relief. Because no matter how unshakable his fear might be, it will never be _this._

"Is he -?"

"No," the angel answers, monotone, eyes never leaving Dean's face. "The wound is not fatal. I could heal it..."

He curls his fingers at Dean's temple round the back of the man's head, cushioning Dean from the dirt and broken twigs beneath. But doesn't move his other hand from its mid-air position.

"But?" Benny prompts.

Castiel's gaze lingers on Dean a moment longer, then he lifts his face to Benny for the first time.

"These creatures carry venom. The poison has already entered his blood."

Benny shrugs. He's not come across this particular brand of nasty before, but the idea they might have more to their bite than meets the eye isn't much of a surprise. The terrors here are nothing if not full of variety.

"So clean him up first. Heal him second. And we'll be on our way."

A now all too familiar narrow-eyed glare is given in response to this, although it lacks the anger of their usual spats.

"I... can't," the angel confesses, and in doing so loses even the attempt at frustration, gaze returning to Dean, expression softening. Perhaps regret. Dean shivers and Benny notices drops of sweat have started to break out across his brow. Apparently Castiel notices as well because he reaches down with his free hand and brushes back Dean's already damp hair, attempting to clean the skin there with his palm. He succeeds only in smearing the week old blood and grime already there into a dirty mess. "I am weakened in this place," Castiel explains, stopping his caress with a sigh. "Simple tasks, killing or the healing of minor wounds, I am capable of. But extracting a poison that has already been absorbed into a human body... I don't have the power."

It crosses Benny's mind to complain at the pointlessness of an angel if he's of no benefit in times of crisis. But he bites the comment back. He's made plenty of the kind, to no avail, and with the one guy he needs to listen to him on this currently incapacitated it would be a waste of everyone's time to harp on the topic.

"Can he get over it himself, do you think?"

Dean's lips break apart in a soft moan, his head shifting from side to side.

"Unlikely," Castiel answers, moving to hold Dean's head still with both hands.

If Dean dies, so do Benny's hopes of freedom. And more than that—his hopes of retribution. Besides, seems a shame to lose the guy like this. Dean's as close to a goddamn warrior as Benny's ever seen. If anyone could conquer the fear of this place it would be him. He deserves better than this slow, piss poor end caused by the lucky snap of a dumb animal's jaw.

Benny wipes at a splatter of blood he can feel dripping down his chin in frustration.

"Well are you gonna just sit there petting him while his life drains away?" he snaps. "Do something!"

This time the scowl back is dark and dangerous.

"What would you have me do?" Castiel growls. "I've told you it is not in my power to save him! Do you think I want this? Do you think I wouldn't give anything to change it if I could?"

"Honestly?" Benny spits back. "I don't rightly know _what_ you think or feel, about anything. Nor do I care—"

"No," Castiel interrupts him, cold. "You don't."

The angel lets that settle for a while, his eyes on Benny hard and disapproving. But Benny's suffered judgement from god himself, taking the same from an angel ain't much of a difference. So he holds his own, staring right back. Once it's clear Benny isn't backing down Castiel turns away, back to Dean, busying himself with keeping Dean's wound angled away from the dirty ground. Not that Benny can see what odds that makes when the man's half out of this world anyway.

"Whatever agreements you and Dean had are of no consequence now," Castiel mutters as he works. "Why not save us both unpleasantness and leave?"

Logical. But Benny finds himself loathe to part from the two of them. That his escape plan might fall apart like this he's always been prepared for, but the thought of venturing back into the wilderness, alone, makes him aware how much he's come to value being part of... well, whatever they are. To say 'team' implies a deeper sense of companionship their allegiance seems to warrant.

"And go where?" he answers, surprisingly himself with his honesty. "Ain't exactly got a warm nest out here I can head back to. Might as well stick with you until I got no other choice in it." That decided he plants his homemade axe in the ground and squats opposite Castiel at Dean's other side. "Deal's only void when one of us dies."

Castiel nods without looking up, although whether in acceptance or because he's too distracted to care Benny couldn't say.

"An inevitability at this stage," the angel says, resting Dean's head in one hand while using his other to ease the blade still held tight in Dean's fingers from the man's grip. He rests the weapon on the ground at his side and gently moves both of Dean's hands, one on top of the other, to Dean's chest, which is now rising and falling in weak, erratic jerks. Castiel places his own hand on top of Dean's and holds here. For warmth, perhaps.  
  
Or not.

They might not have said it outright, but you don't go on a murderous rampage to find a guy, or set yourself up as bait to keep monsters from his door, just because. Hell knows what it is between them—maybe they used to fuck, maybe they want to, maybe they don't know it themselves—but there's something there, no mistake.

It makes Benny nostalgic. Andrea's face filling his mind in a way he hasn't allowed it to for years, the memories growing too painful. The way she gasped, so quiet and controlled, as he brought her to pleasure. And again, right before his brothers piled in and ripped her apart.

"What'll you do?" he asks, lowering his voice like he used to in church as a kid. Ha. Ain't that ironic? A vampire showing respect for the holy.

His tone must be appreciated some, though, because the angel doesn't frown or tell him where to get off. Instead Castiel answers him, similarly hushed.

"Stay with him. To the end."

"And then?"

Castiel tilts his head, glancing at Benny with an expression so perfectly clear and calm it makes the hairs on the back of Benny's head start to twitch. Makes him want to run and leave this unfathomable guy with his impossible eyes and their bottomless despair far far behind him and never look back.

"And then nothing," Castiel tells him with a shrug, like Benny's the dumbest creature in all creation for even asking.

Benny's still trying to process this as the angel turns from him, lifting a hand and reaching for the ragged mark at Dean's neck.

"I can at least mend this and stop the bleeding," Castiel mutters, lowering his fingers.

He moves slowly and careful, looking for a spot that won't be too tender. Pointless, since Dean is too out of it to feel the pain, which would be minor compared to his current suffering in any case. But Benny thinks of how he might have treated Andrea had he been alive with her at the end and knows he'd act the same.

The bite itself is nothing. A nasty rip that would sting like a bitch and need constant tending to stop infection. But survivable. The bleeding the angel wants to stop isn't even fatal. Benny can see it scabbing over already.

Still a novelty he hasn't quite got used to, that. Meat and drink seem irrelevant to the souls down here and he hasn't taken a drop of blood since he first woke up in the place. Even when battles left the stuff pouring like geysers at his feet he felt no urge for it. But then, all the place could offer was monster blood, which never did hold much appeal. He thought with Dean it might be different, him being a mythical, hot-blooded, very much alive human and all.

It had been a concern, those first few days together, how Benny would handle the chance at a proper meal again. If, when it came to it, he'd be able to resist the frenzy he felt sure Dean's lifeblood would inspire. But the first time Dean got really cut up, scratched deep down his forearm by a werewolf who got too frisky, Benny felt... nothing. Not even a flicker of the excitement he remembered. A fascinating turn, for sure. He'd been so floored by the thing he'd just stood there, watching Dean bleed out and relishing the freedom of _not_ wanting to taste, until Dean had yelled at him to snap out of it.

And here he is again, watching a man bleed with that same sense of release. He almost wants to stop the angel so he can enjoy it some more.

Although the blood being poisoned would probably have curbed his hunger in any case. Unless he was desperate and willing to try—

"Wait!" he grabs Castiel's hand by the wrist, talking over the glare that follows. "You say it's his blood that's poisoned?"

"Yes. Now let me—"

"Then maybe there's still a chance." The hope of it is a horrible thing, burning its way through his chest. It'll hurt like nothing else if it ends up being snuffed out, but even so, it's worth a shot. "Blood sucking is my area of expertise, after all," he explains.

"I don't—" Castiel starts, ripping his hand from Benny's grip, an ominous glow to his fingertips. Then he stops, eyes widening a fraction. "You propose extracting the poison yourself."

"Nothing to lose in trying, right?"

There's a moment of unreadable silence.

Benny's starting to wonder if he should be reaching for his weapon when the angel leans down and takes Dean by the shoulders. Holding him like precious china, Castiel draws Dean up against his chest, head resting on Castiel's shoulder so the bite mark is clearly visible. Castiel wraps an arm about Dean's chest and places a hand on his forehead, holding the man still. When he looks up eyes are hard with resolve.

"I will hold him."

Benny looks from the angel's determined expression to the still lightly bleeding cut in Dean's neck and he can't help it, he licks his lips, a memory of old hunger rising inside him. He might not need the blood, but the thought of drinking again after so long is intoxicating nonetheless. He leans in.

Only to feel a chocking grip round his throat. The angel squeezing his neck.

"If you attempt anything else, _anything_ , be assured that I will kill you without hesitation."

Piece said, Castiel draws his hand away and returns it to the man in his arms, fingers so recently used to threaten combing delicately through Dean's hair.

Benny quirks his mouth up in a grin. Fair enough.

"No fear of that, friend," he offers as reassurance. "I need him living and human if I stand any chance of getting out of here, don't I?"

He doesn't wait for a response, the angel will either trust him or he won't and they've already wasted too much time. Baring his fangs he lunges forward and takes his first taste of human blood in half a century.

The blood is rank—bitter and sickly where the poison has taken hold. It makes him want to gag. Some reward for five decades of abstinence. But he suffers it, drawing out mouthful after mouthful and spitting the vile, diseased stuff over the fallen leaves beside them.

At some point he's aware that Dean is, weakly, starting to struggle. His body convulses under Benny and Castiel's hold, murmurs of protest passing sluggish and half-formed from his lips, like a man in the throes of a nightmare. Course, every damn day's a nightmare round here.

The angel holds Dean tighter, shushing him like a child, and Benny continues.

After what feels like an age and surely more blood than a man can live without, Benny takes in a mouthful that's metallic and clean. He spits it out and tries once more, slower this time.

Sweet Jesus. God _yes_. This is the warm, sweet taste he remembers. This was what life had been once, so long ago. This, oh _this_.

He hears a groan of pleasure it takes a couple of seconds to process as his own. Part of him recognises now is the time to stop but it's too late, his tongue is alive with the hot, viscous joy of it, all he can see are shades of red. This is life. This is everything.

A palm flattens against the side of his face.

"Enough."

The angel's voice is quiet and deadly calm. It's how the Old Man sounded when he ordered an execution. When he ordered Benny's execution. It's enough to break through the scarlet haze.

Though it feels like swimming against an impossible tide, or sailing through a storm, Benny wrenches himself away, the force toppling him backwards and leaving him sprawled on the ground, fangs still dripping. Castiel stares, blinking, hand raised where he'd last held it, at the ready to burn Benny's essence like he's done with countless others. Castiel looks from Benny to his flattened palm, expression clouding, and Benny feels unaccountably proud at the shock, that he should have surpassed this creature's expectations somehow.

Then Dean moans and twists in Castiel's arms, eyes flicking open.

"What...?" he chokes, coughing. Benny's... attention... has deepened the gash in Dean's neck so it's bleeding freely, adding fresh stains to Dean's already ruined jacket.

Benny forgotten, Castiel presses his hand hard and fast to the wound, making Dean cry out.

"Ow! Cas? The fuck -!"

Castiel ignores him, palm glowing white enough to make Benny look away.

When he turns back, fangs retracted, Dean is whole once more and scrambling out of Castiel's embrace to his feet. Castiel follows suit and so, not wishing to be at a disadvantage, Benny pushes himself up as well, wiping at his lips and chin as he does. The urge to drink is gone again, passed like it never was, but the blood on him sure smells good still and Benny has to hold back from lapping up the drops.

"What the _hell?_ " Dean exclaims, head turning between the two of them, eyes wild. He pauses on Benny, catching him in the act of cleaning the corner of his lips with his thumb and Benny can see the penny fall, Dean's hand flying to his now healed neck that is nevertheless still sticky and red. He pulls his hand away and stares at the stained tips of his fingers, mouth gaping. His head snaps up. "Did you just -?" He whips round to Castiel. "Did he -?!"

"Dean—" Castiel starts, a gentle pronouncement that's usually enough to make the man pause, but not this time. Dean waves him away and focuses on Benny again.

"You... bloodsucking, fucking..." He feels round for his blade which is, thankfully, out of reach at the angel's feet. Failing that his eyes fall on Benny's weapon fixed in the ground between them.

Dean lunges for the handle but Benny's faster, wrapping his hand round it so Dean is left gripping Benny's wrist.

"Easy," Benny says, holding Dean's gaze and trying to keep his voice steady. Low and calm. Wild animals are most dangerous when spooked or wounded, he remembers his father telling him. The information seems apt. "It weren't nothing kinky, if that's what you're thinking."

Dean frowns. Then sways, suddenly unsteady.

"I'd take a load off," Benny advises. "You lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah? And whose fault's that?" Dean mutters, but his eyes are losing focus. His hand loses its grip on Benny and he trips backwards where Castiel is waiting to catch him by the shoulders.

"You were bitten. Poisoned," Castiel explains and Dean blinks, hard, as he processes.

"Poisoned, huh?" he repeats, words a little slurred. "Those fucking Cujos?"

"The dogs, yes," Castiel nods. "I couldn't... I couldn't stop it..." He presses his lips together. Always so fucking apologetic. "But, Benny..." He nods in Benny's direction and Benny lifts an eyebrow. He'll be damned. It's the first time the guy's called him anything but 'the vampire.' From looking nothing but bleak this whole situation has taken a definite up turn. "It was the only way to save you."

"Huh..." Dean shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. And doesn't succeed if the way he keeps blinking is anything to go by. No surprise. Man lost a _lot_ of blood. "So... the two of you, were working together... you... you saved me...?"

He smiles a little and Benny and Cas share a look. The kind they've shared a lot of times. The only real understanding between them, before today anyhow. The knowing that Dean wants them to get along. But neither of them have any intention of that.

One look at Castiel's once again narrowed eyes tells Benny that what's happened changes nothing here.

He dips his head. Understood.

"I admit it does seem rather implausible," Castiel answers.

Dean chuckles.

"You guys..." he starts. "I... I... I think I'm gonna pass out now..."

"I think that would be wise," Benny says.

And Dean promptly does, sagging into Castiel, chin dropping down to his chest.

Castiel takes this in his stride, scooping Dean up in his arms like he weighs no more than a bag of sugar.

"We should leave," he says, all business again, like he wasn't on the verge of packing it all in a few minutes ago. As cuckoo as the angel can be sometimes, he's adaptable, Benny gives him that.

"I agree," Benny nods, leaning down to tug his axe from the ground then scooping up Dean's blade as well. "Some place with higher ground would be best, so as we can see these things coming next time." He gives one of the dogs a vicious kick as he passes.

"Yes. Up this way seems suitable."

Castiel nods to a group of hills up ahead and Benny marches after him, readying for a long haul. He almost collides with the angel when Castiel stops dead after a few paces.

"Something wrong?" Benny tenses, gripping his weapons tight in both hands and glancing about.

"I..." Castiel starts without turning. "...thank you."

Then he's striding ahead, leaving Benny blinking after him.

Well ain't that something. Gratitude from an angel.

It makes Benny think there might be hope of absolution for him after all.

He shivers and hurries after Castiel's retreating form.

Absolution for a vampire. Now that's gotta be the scariest thing yet.

 

~ **fin** ~


End file.
